


soft-boiled

by foetend



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Drabble, F/M, LAVELLAN SMASH, Post-Break Up, Post-Dragon Age: Inquisition - Trespasser DLC, and it pisses her off, best part of waking up is angst in your cup, lavellan can't eat eggs ever again, taking the egg joke and making it kind of angsty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-07
Updated: 2019-03-07
Packaged: 2019-11-13 14:49:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18033749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foetend/pseuds/foetend
Summary: Ode to an egg.[or, why Lavellan isn't allowed eggs with her breakfast anymore]





	soft-boiled

Consider the egg.

Brown shell. Taken from the palace chickens before the sun rose. Easily cracked with a spoon thumped against its delicate edge. Slightly darker spots dusting the wider bottom like freckles.

 _Like the ones that paint his cheeks. The ones that swirl across his back and_ -

Consider the egg.

The white is firm but it jiggles when you shake it. It's still slightly warm from its bath of boiling water. Early in the morning, when everyone slept in their beds, a servant stoked the fire. Eggs waiting in a dish. Crowded in a silver pot with other eggs, their shells bouncing off each other as the water bubbles and rolls between them. Smooth under your touch.

_Like his skin. Warm and trembling under my fingertips -_

Consider the egg.

The yolk, bright sunny center, rich and nourishing. It will melt under your tongue. Proteins coating the inside of your mouth. Your bare face, still foreign, stares back at you from the distorted reflection of the polished silverware. You smile at the stranger looking back at you. Sharp fangs pulling long into the tines of a fork. Dig your teeth into the golden orb. Sink into it with almost no effort.

_Like his fingers into my flesh. Our bodies perfectly sized for each other -_

Consider the egg.

Consider how it feels when you flex your hand into a fist. The rapidly cooling white bursting under your fingers as you bring them together, escaping through the gaps and curling over your knuckles. The shaking anger that coils in your belly as you stare at the goddamn egg. The yolk smearing on your palm. Yellow flaking, trailing, oozing down your skin. Buried in the woven lines of your only hand.

Consider the emptiness of your chest. The aching of your phantom left arm. The empty sleeve rolled up and pinned.

Consider how you have all these fancy pairs of gloves that will _never_ be worn together again and you can't just _buy_ one glove and now you have to have all your gloves specially made and you don't even _like_ gloves but it just pisses you off and-

_“Inquisitor!”_

Lavellan blinks. Her companions sitting around the breakfast table stare at her with wide-eyes and mouths open in shock. She follows their gaze, dropping her sight to look at her trembling hand firmly grasping an utterly destroyed soft-boiled egg. It drips, fat and oily, onto the white tablecloth.

She laughs, light and hollow, and lets Josephine fuss over her as the Antivan woman grabs a fancy linen napkin to wipe her soiled hand.

She smiles, wide and fake, and assures them that she's fine. She eats the frilly Orlesian pastries and drinks the bitter tea.

Lavellan smiles because they need her to.

Lavellan looks at the platter of remaining soft-boiled eggs. Her companions watch, holding their breath, as she plucks one from the platter and places it on her plate. She balances a thin handled spoon in her hand, cracking the shell with one swift motion. She dips a finger into the wet yolk, soaked to the first knuckle, and watches it drip yellow and slow on her skin.

Lavellan smiles and pops her fingertip in her mouth. She licks it clean. The table relaxes. They return to their food and chat quietly among themselves. She watches them talk and makes no move to join their conversations. She sighs and drifts into her head again.

She considers the egg.

 


End file.
